


silence/sound

by bishounens



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounens/pseuds/bishounens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's in the syllables, it's in the sounds, it's in the inches between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	silence/sound

**Author's Note:**

> once again, reposting one of my old drabbles that i completed a few years ago! i have a lot of emotions for homin lmfao and yeah somehow DB5K will always have a soft spot in my heart. this can be read as a homin oneshot without any romantic inclinations btw. i hope you all enjoy : - )

The first Japanese word Changmin learns is the ever-traditional “ _Kon'nichiwa_ ”. The syllables grate on his tongue, and he stumbles twice before he finally manages to grind the word out – the word catching on his teeth and getting swallowed by the noise of the plane’s engines as they take off. His stomach jolts in a manner that he isn’t entirely sure is due to the jerky motion of the plane, and he clutches his sides when his lunch threatens to make an unexpected reappearance. Changmin looks up and he sees the top of Jaejoong, Junsu and Yoochun's heads as the sit in the aisle up front, whispering rapidly to one another in barely audible tones. 

He returns his gaze to the Japanese tourist guide on his lap and mouths the foreign words under his breath, frowning in frustration when the language remains harsh and unyielding; meaning lost in a myriad of cryptic symbols. It’s only when callused fingertips trace the edges of the kanji letters on the glossy paper, and he looks up to meet warm brown eyes that the words suddenly form on the tip of his tongue of their own accord.

“Kon'nichiwa,” Yunho says huskily.

The intonation isn’t perfect and the word still comes out slightly garbled, but Changmin finds himself repeating the word after Yunho slowly.

Kon'nichiwa.

Annyeonghaseyo.

 _Hello_.

 

____

 

“Changmin-san, you’re mumbling. I can’t hear a single word.”

Changmin blinks blearily at his Japanese tutor, refraining from the urge to call her noona and settling for clasping his hands so tightly on his lap that his knuckles turn white.

“S-sorry,” Changmin tries to  grin unabashedly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and he knows his heart isn’t in it. His tutor only sighs before returning the smile ruefully, shaking her head and dismissing him with a soft laugh and a wave of her hand. Changmin leaves the Avex building and decides to stop at the convenience store before he heads back to the dorm, suddenly craving a bowl of kimchi.

He only realises when he’s halfway across the street that Japan doesn’t have kimchi, they have sushi. Then he remembers that they use yen, not won, and his heart sinks. He takes his leather wallet out and brings out a thousand won, turning the worn paper face down in his hands, fingers caressing the geometric edges of the hangul that spells out _gyesangjeonggeodo_.  He trudges back to the dorm with heavy footsteps and an even heavier heart, and the front door closes with a hollow thud once he steps inside. He presumes that the others must either have gone out, or are still at the Avex building practising for their Japanese debut. Since he’s alone, he decides he has every right to raid the kitchen without a pesky Jaejoong berating him for messing up his mealtime schedule or emptying their pantry of all edible objects. Grabbing a packet of frozen ddukbokki, he heats it up in the microwave before taking it to his room and opening his Japanese textbooks.

A plethora of unfamiliar symbols greet him once more, and Changmin sighs before resigning himself to a night of translating and memorizing and repeating phrases of _how are you_  and _thank you_ and _I’m fine_ uselessly under his breath because he _can’t get the fucking consonants right_. And no matter how hard he tries it’s hard to communicate in a language that’s completely alien to him. It’s just sounds and sounds and meaningless repetition and it’s lapping at his chest and filling his lungs and suffocating him whole in its intensity.

Halfway through, he falls asleep on his textbook and dreams of trying to speak. But nothing comes out of his mouth whilst all he does is gasp soundlessly.

He jolts awake at 4.56am in the morning and he sees his entire book of Japanese phrases already translated into Korean; neat handwriting carving out the hangul characters like a lover’s caress. Changmin turns just in time to see someone slip out of his room quietly, the door shutting with a soft click as the familiar scent of Yunho’s cologne lingers in the stale air.

 

____

 

 

Korea feels very far away, and even though he filters Japanese into Korean through his head, it’s getting faster, he’s getting closer. A part of him recognised that Japan was all at once beautiful and terrifying. It was like seeing his dreams wrapped up in a stage stretching all the way to the horizon. But he’s tired. Changmin’s tired of struggling to speak and Changmin’s tired of bottling everything up because that’s all he can do. Changmin’s tired of playing marionette.

After a day of practising their Japanese songs, he follows his members back to the dorm and retreats into his room without a single word. Heedless of his dirty clothes, he collapses on the bed and the bedsprings creak beneath his weight as he lies spread-eagled across the mattress. Everything about him is soundless now, and even the thoughts in his head seem vague – as if they’re reluctant to manifest. He doesn’t notice the door inch open slowly, and he doesn’t notice that someone’s in his room till the bed dips slightly and suddenly there’s warm arms encircling his torso.

“I’m fine,” Changmin tries to say, but the sound gets caught in his throat.

Yunho doesn’t reply. Changmin falls asleep in silence and wakes up submerged in sound.

 

____

 

The following night, Changmin rummages around in his backpack for his phone, knowing even before his fingers close around the cold, mechanical object that it’s not going to work. Still, he flips it open anyway and the familiar Korean is like heat washing over him in languid waves. He’s been so immersed in Japanese lately that he’s forgetting Korea. He’s forgetting the jagged outline of skyscrapers against the misty morning sky, he’s forgetting the smell of fresh soondae and ddukbokki being sold alongside the streets when he wanders the busy districts. Most of all, he’s forgetting Seoul.  Clutching his phone desperately, he goes out onto the balcony and scrolls through his contacts, calling people on an impulse and hearing the phone ring even though he knows that the call won’t reach since he doesn’t have a Japanese phone card and there’s no signal up in the dorms. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until a tear drops onto his screen and blurs the bright words, blending the Korean into Japanese and intensifying the ache in his chest.

The balcony doors slide open with a soft rattle, and footsteps approach him before there’s a warm presence beside him and wiping his tears away and clutching Changmin close to his chest as he murmurs comforting words into his hair. And Changmin’s brain doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, but his heart recognises the soft crooning note in that masculine voice before he finds himself burying his head in the crook of Yunho’s neck as he cries soundlessly.

They’re holding each other in silence, and there’s nothing but the rush of the wind and the faint sounds of the hectic metropolis below, but to Changmin, the rest of the world seems to be on mute. He’s only hearing the steady thump-thump of Yunho’s heartbeat, and the soft breaths that escape Yunho’s parted lips.

Suddenly he doesn’t need words.

 

____

 

On April 2005, they debut in Japan.

It’s not a huge, roaring audience. It’s not a glamorous stage. It’s not even a good performance.

Changmin’s hair sticks to his clammy forehead, and his palms are so sweaty that the microphone slips numerous times as he’s dancing. Then the music dies and he's left standing on stage with his head bowed, chest heaving up and down. The lights dim slightly and Changmin hears the faint call of his name; barely above a whisper. He looks up and he sees Yunho’s lips stretched in an euphoric grin, sweat trickling down the raised tendons of his neck and pooling in the dip of his collarbones as his eyes speak a thousand words per second.

Changmin realises then, that Yunho has always been the same, no matter what language.

It could be Korean, it could be Japanese, it even could be English, and it would still be U-Know Yunho. Jung Yunho. His Yunho. _Yun-ho_.  The word ricochets in his chest and settles somewhere within the vicinity of his ribcage, wrapping itself around the bones, ingraining itself in his skin and percolating into his bloodstream.

Changmin breathes in, and the whole world comes rushing out.

Silence is bliss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/swolkook) if you wanna yell about anime/kpop with me and have a great day.


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